


The Cost of Her Love

by Kiatheinsomniac



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Assassin's Creed: Unity, Assassins vs. Templars, Axeman - Freeform, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, French Revolution, I'm bad at summaries but good at writing, Near Death Experiences, Please give me a chance, Reign of Terror, bit of action with him but not really, sorry - Freeform, the price of love, unity, Élise bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:53:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiatheinsomniac/pseuds/Kiatheinsomniac
Summary: (Y/n) has adored Arno since the day she met him. She has picked him up at his worst and has helped him through his most difficult times with undying devotion. Yet, he can't see past his relationship with Élise to notice that she is in love with him. Élise wants Arno to stop seeing (Y/n) but he finds this too challenging a promise to keep. In the end, all their fates will be decided by the events that will play out in the temple.And (Y/n) will discover the cost of her love.
Relationships: Arno Dorian/Reader, Arno Dorian/Élise de la Serre
Comments: 19
Kudos: 69





	1. Suspicions and Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse how bad I am at summaries and enjoy this angst that will melt into fluff and likely end in smut (this is me writing about Arno, what else do you expect?).

(Y/n) awoke laid across the end of Arno’s bed, the pillow under her head now wrapped in her arms. 

She had been looking after Arno for a few weeks now. After Élise cut him off when he chose to save her over killing Germain; he then turned to drinking in Versailles. He had been living in the raided De La Serre château while he had been in the town. As soon as (Y/n) had located him (a week after the incident), she had gone to find him and bring him back to Paris. She had eased him out of his drinking habits but there was still no word from Élise. 

(Y/n) spent all day with Arno if she wasn’t called in for a mission by the council and she would normally return to her own home to sleep at night. But last night her mission had bitten into the early hours of the morning and she was exhausted. Seeing as Arno’s home was just above the assassin hideout, she had dropped in to stay the night. 

He had been awake when she got in, unable to sleep. In a way, it was convenient that he was awake because she didn’t want to just barge into his home while he slept. They had agreed that she would sleep across the end of the bed while Arno slept normally. Usually, she would have spent hours speaking to him to find out why he couldn’t sleep and the ease him into slumber but she had no energy left that night.

♡♡♡

Come morning, upon waking up, she shifted her hips slightly to stretch her middle only to feel a weight on her. Looking down, she saw Arno’s arm around her waist. Her lips parted in surprise slightly as she looked over her shoulder, trying to not move her head.

Her head was resting on his bicep while his chin was propped on top of her head. His chest was pressed against her back and his arm held her close to him while their legs were tangled together: his knee between her thighs and their calves seemingly wrapped around each other. 

She knew that she should have pulled away, tried to get up without waking him. But the contact just felt too good. His broad chest against her slight back making her feel so small and protected by him, how warm she was from everywhere he was touching her, feeling him breathe softly and his slow heartbeat against her back. She didn’t want to move, she wanted to live in this moment forever.  
She’d wanted this for too long to let it die now. She’d spent night after night imagining falling asleep in his arms, all of her free time usually spent daydreaming about him. 

She couldn’t tell if he was oblivious or not. Did he think she was just a really caring friend? Or did he know that everything she did for him was out of love? She often wondered if he reciprocated her feelings, even in the slightest. Were those kisses to her forehead and cheeks truly just platonic or was there more? What about the tenderness when he treated her wounds after missions? The times when he’d grab her hand at any time it would seem casual enough? And now: surely he hadn’t worked his way across the end of his bed in his sleep to hold her? 

For whatever reason he had done it, she decided that it wasn’t important. He was holding her now and that’s all she cared about as she slipped her eyes shut again. 

He could smell his scent encasing her and mixing with her vanilla perfume and she adored it, trembling softly with excitement as a delicate smile decorated her lips. She decided that she’d go back to sleep and enjoy him holding her peacefully. 

“Don’t go back to sleep on me now.” The (y/o)woman practically leapt out of her skin at the sound of the redhead’s voice, waking Arno in the process. She hadn’t noticed her sitting on the stool by the fireplace. 

The two of them were both equally confused and Arno made quick work of letting go of her. (Y/n) was the first to get out of bed and she set straight to putting her hooded coat on, pulling it over her braided hair. Arno was quick to follow as he made his way over to Élise. 

“Mon amour (my love), where have you been?” He asked, taking her hands in his. 

“I had business to take care of.” She replied with a small sigh as she stood to meet him. (Y/n) could have snapped the laces of her boots with her bare hands when she heard this. The (e/c) eyed woman had been overwhelmed with taking both her’s and Arno’s missions now that he was exiled and she still dedicated every spare hour she had to help him recover because she loved him. Élise wouldn’t even give him her time, let alone her help. 

Of course, she hadn’t told him that she was taking over his work for him, she didn’t want him to worry or stress or feel guilty about her helping him. 

(Y/n) had met Élise before, very briefly, in the council hall but she doubted that the Frenchwoman even remembered her. She quickly made her way over to the door. 

“Where are you going?” Arno asked, taking a step towards her but being restricted by Élise’s grip on his hand. 

“I’ve got another mission to do.” She answered, hand resting against the doorframe as she turned to face the couple, trying to forget that Élise was there. 

“But you didn’t get in until late last night. . . They’re not overworking you are they?” She flashed a soft smile at his concern for her. 

“No, it’s just inconvenient timing, is all.” She finished before leaving. Last night’s mission was assigned to her but this one had been set for him. After he was exiled from the brotherhood, (Y/n) knew that she would fight later on to get him back in and needed to make sure she did him some favours. Taking over his missions alone meant that it was less of an inconvenience for the council to assign them to other assassins. Silence fell until her footsteps could no longer be heard tapping down the stairs to the foyer. 

“Who was that?” Élise quizzed, brows slightly furrowed. 

“(Y/n) (L/n). She’s been helping me out.” He answered. Élise let out a low hum. 

“Yes, I heard all about you in Versailles.” There was a pause, “Why were you holding her?” 

“I don’t know, Élise, I must have done it in my sleep.” He sighed, taking in her expression and realising why she was questioning him, “She’s a good friend. Nothing more.” 

“If this is how you treat your ‘good friends’ we may have some problems later on down the line.” She spoke as she made her way to the door herself. “Get dressed and I’ll meet you in the café, we have to talk.”

♡♡♡

Perhaps (Y/n) was a little too angry about Élise’s return. When she made her way to the hideout, she was perhaps too forceful with the door and even the munitions keeper pointed out her sour look when she went to buy more bullets. 

“What’s got you in a mood?” A voice spoke up as she collected the paperwork that specified the details of her mission. 

“Nothing, Jean-Jacques.” She replied to her green-robed friend who was more commonly dubbed Axeman. 

“Something’s up, what is it? You’re doing your angry walk.” (Y/n) scoffed as she looked up at him over the papers. 

“I do not have an angry walk.” 

“Yes, you do. Your strides are longer and your posture’s straighter.” He explained as he leaned against the bookshelf. (Y/n) sighed, knowing he wouldn’t give up. 

“Don’t tell Arno?” She pushed for a compromise, knowing that Axeman was a lot closer to Arno than to herself. 

“Sure.” He replied, curiosity getting the better of him. 

“She’s back.” 

“I see.” A smile played on his lips, “You’re jealous.” 

“With good reason!” She retorted snappily, lips falling into a pout and brows furrowing. “I know that he loves her and she may well love him but. . . But she can’t possibly love him as much as I do! He would do anything for her, anything! He was exiled from the brotherhood, he let Germain get away to save her life and she. . . She left him at his lowest. She won’t even give him her time and I give him everything. I was the one who pulled him out of his drinking, I was the one he cried to about all his survivor’s guilt, I was the one who assured him that everything’s ok and none of it was his fault, I—“ Her eyes watered up. 

“She’ll abandon him in the end. She’s so set on vengeance that she’ll put it before everything, her own life, so of course, that means her relationship with him too.” She could feel a tear roll down her cheek and catch the corner of her mouth. “I could never do that to him. . .” 

The man before her was taken aback for a moment, not having expected a full confession from her. So he sat down to carry on the conversation further because he knew that she was right. 

“You’re right. She’ll leave him in the end.” He sighed and he took a seat. “But don’t you think you should. . . look elsewhere?” He prompted cautiously. 

“How can I?” She threw her hands in the air, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, never for this long. I’ve never wanted to dedicate every part of my soul to someone else. I feel such a pull to him, like. . . like we’re one and the same, begging to be pieced back together. I know how stupid it sounds, really stupid,” she laughed, “but I can’t put it into words and it’s been over a year. I don’t think I’ll ever find them.” 

The male assassin let out a sigh, gently placing his hand on her thigh as he got up. 

“Just know that there are other people out there who are willing to look forward to a future with you, alright?” She nodded her head once. “You’re such a sweet woman. You’re hardworking, determined, selfless, passionate. Don’t let all of that go to waste on someone who doesn’t deserve you.” And with that, he left. 

♡♡♡

A few weeks later, Arno had hardly kept in contact with her. She had been doing her utmost to put him in the council’s favour while he was gone so that he might be reinitiated. But he was absent almost every time she visited the café and their conversations were brief. 

She had got a bonus of money from her last mission and had passed an artist on the market on the way home. There, she found a tiny oil painting that was unbelievably detailed for its small A5 size. It showed apple trees by a flamboyant greenhouse that was brimming with life behind the glass. 

When she asked the artist about it, he explained that it was one he had done in Austria during his travels. As soon as she found this out, she purchased it right away. 

Upon returning home, (Y/n) lit her fireplace and some candles around her desk then began writing a letter out to Arno. She wrote of how she missed him dearly and longed to spend more time with him, his lack of company leaving her feeling rather lonely. She then explained that she had bought the painting for him, knowing his love of art. Furthermore, she added how she had chosen it because he had told her that his mother was Austrian and he wished to go there one day seeing as she never got to introduce him to her country. 

The (y/o)woman nearly folded the letter and sealed it with dark red wax, stamping it with a rose print and writing his name on the front followed by her name in the corner so that he knew who it was from.  
As of late, she had taken to writing him letters seeing as he never seemed to be around whenever she went to the café in order to visit him so that she could get a message across even when he was absent. As soon as the wax was dry, she pocketed the letter and made her way out of her loft apartment, locking her door as she made her way down the steps of the doctor whose loft she lived in. He was a kind man, as was his wife; also, his son and daughter were very polite. Overall, they were a very pleasant family. 

(Y/n) followed her usual route to Arno's, hoping she'd be able to catch him today. She managed to slip past all the Jacobin Extremists (who may well remember) her by blending into crowds of people or sticking to the shadows. She was in a particularly good mood after having such an easy mission with a high reward and she was looking forward to giving Arno his gift. 

It was easy for the (e/c)-eyed female to admit that she was a very materialistic woman. But, she found that the only thing more personally rewarding was seeing Arno's face light up as it was so rare he was happy. 

The Frenchman came off as a very carefree person but she knew better. He had opened up to her about all of his losses and guilty feelings, about all the times the world had done him wrong. She handled him at his worst more often than his best but it only meant that she knew how to help him recover faster than anyone else could. 

Now that she thought about it: as soon as she picked him up from his worst, Élise usually swept in the reap all the benefits and make sure that (Y/n) was quickly forgotten about. This made her falter in her step a little as the domed roof of Arno's home came into her view. 

Was she being used?

No. She shook the thought from her head, refusing to ponder over it as she made her way into the courtyard, passing the familiar fountain. The sound of slowly trickling water filled her ears and merged in with the atmosphere around her: the chatter of people on the streets, the applause from patrons, music from the café, birds in the trees and the very distant gunshots that seemed to be the call of the Reign of Terror. 

(Y/n) made her way to the study where she found the manager speaking to a maid about how she was not allowed the next Saturday off. He looked up to see her waiting in the doorway. 

"Is Arno here today?" She clutched the frame of the painting hopefully. 

"He is, he is in his room." The man, who had just passed his middle-ages, replied in his stoic tone.

"Brilliant! I'll go to see him!" She beamed a smile, glad to have caught him at last. Just as she was about to turn to make her way upstairs, she was stopped by the same voice. 

"I wouldn't." He cut in, changing her plans entirely, "Mademoiselle de la Serre has stayed the night and they're yet to wake. Their privacy should be respected." 

"Oh. . ." She replied, her heart knotting in her chest with disappointment.

"Good morning-" A voice spoke up from behind her, pausing for the briefest of moments after the first two words, "(Y/n)?" 

"Arno!" Her smile returned once more as she turned to face him. He wasn't fully dressed yet: he wore breeches and a shirt with an unbuttoned waistcoat and a simple pair of black shoes, "I'm so glad to have finally come while you're here!" She greeted him with a hug which he hesitantly returned, quickly melting into her hold. He looked to the maid behind the female assassin before truly meeting her gaze. But she sensed something was wrong. "Is everything alright?" Her brows arched with concern. 

"Of course it is." He smiled widely, "I'm just glad to see you again." She let out a small sigh as she read his eyes as easily as one of the many books she loved to immerse herself in. 

"Arno, you should know by now that you can't lie to me." She mused. He sighed in defeat and led her outside where they sat on a bench that was below a window. "What's bothering you? You know that I'm always here for you." 

"It's complicated." He confessed vaguely, resting his elbows on his knees and hunching forwards, she leant to see his face. 

"So I'll help you figure it out." She said, encouraging him to share his burden with her. 

"I miss seeing you, I liked having you around." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, "You always know exactly what to say - not necessarily what I want to hear but what I need to hear."  
"Then we can arrange to see each other more." She offered. 

"It's not that easy. . ." There was a long pause as he built up the courage to say it, "Élise doesn't like our friendship, she's told me to avoid you to prevent putting a strain on our relationship." Her face dropped in shock.

"Arno, that's not right." She spoke out, "She shouldn't control your friendships, especially if it's making you unhappy. Why should she worry anyway? I wouldn't be selfish enough to ruin your relationship even if I wanted to." He didn't know how true her words were. She could have easily tried to snatch Arno from her hold by now but she didn't because she liked seeing him happy. She didn't want to ruin that by destroying the relationship he had with his childhood sweetheart. 

"I know, I know. But she's been through enough and I don't want-"

"Arno, you've been through enough!" She burst out, "I've seen you hit rock bottom and you've told me everything that's happened to you. Whether she has been through a lot is irrelevant in my opinion: that shouldn't be weighing down your relationship, you two should be building up from it!" He chuckled gently after thinking over her words. 

"How is it that the woman with no relationship experience whatsoever gives the best relationship advice?" That felt like a phantom blade to the chest and it insulted her a little but she wouldn't let him know that; now was not the time. 

"Blame all the books." She joked to cover it up. 

"Really though, Arno, she shouldn't be restricting you like this. Talk to her about it or I'll do it myself. You know that all I want is to see you happy, right?" He nodded his head once as he sat upright. "Speaking of, the council said they won't consider reinitiating you until you cut off your work ties to Élise - her position as a Templar must be cut from your life entirely."

"You know she won't ever agree to that. . ." He sighed, leaning on his hand and pressing a fist to his mouth as he began to realise he may never get back into the brotherhood. 

"Why should she be making all these decisions for you?!" She burst out, almost angrily, "This is important to you! Why should she-" 

"Arno, coffee's ready!" When (Y/n) turned to face the doorway, Élise was stood there holding two cups of coffee in her hands, a rather bitter look on her face when her eyes landed on (Y/n). Though this evaporated rapidly when she had Arno's attention too. She walked inside before he could answer, a silent command to follow her. 

"I got you this." (Y/n) added as she pushed the painting and letter into his hands, "I explained why in the letter. . ." There was a long pause before she spoke again, "Don't let her take away the things that you desire, alright?" She added and finished the conversation with a hug. He returned it loosely, nowhere near as enthusiastically as he had earlier. She turned and left as he went inside.


	2. Coffees and Confessions

Another two weeks had passed since then and Arno remained just as distant. In the Assassin hideout, he would avoid her or shoot her glances from across the room that he seemed to think she didn't notice. 

(Y/n) had begun to plan how she would approach Élise as well as what she would say to her. Whether the Templar liked it or not: (Y/n) was Arno's friend and had been for a good few years now. She had been the one to pick him up when she wouldn't and she had been the one to stick by his side no matter what happened.

In fact, she was planning on how she would politely inform Élise that she had nothing to worry about because all (Y/n) wanted was to see him happy, not to take him from her, when Arno himself came stumbling through the door to the hideout, clutching his arm. 

The distance which had been put between them over the past few weeks suddenly evaporated as she ran to his side, footsteps echoing off the walls from the marble floor.

"What happened?" She gasped as she led him over to the infirmary. It was currently empty so she took it upon herself to examine him, having enough experience from her years of being an assassin.

"Too many guards but it's just a flesh wound." He hissed when she peeled his hand away from his bicep.

"A flesh wound that needs stitches." She tutted as she turned to get the disinfectant to clean it with, pouring it onto a cloth and pouring a bowl of water from the pitcher, "Take your clothes off." 

"(Y/n). . ." He sighed, his mind going back to his girlfriend who seemed very protective about him when it came to this particular woman. 

"Now. That needs stitches and to be cleaned." She ordered as she threaded the needle. He sighed in defeat as he slid his coat off gingerly. "How many guards were there anyway?"

"Around ten. The escape plan wasn't very well thought out." He frowned as he unbuttoned his waistcoat.

"Ten?!" (Y/n) exclaimed as she turned around, "How on Earth did you get yourself into that situation?!" 

"Defending Élise." Was his simple reply. (Y/n) turned back around to hide her grimace. Élise didn't sound like an all-round bad person. She sounded committed and determined but she also sounded as though she simply was not a good match for him considering the fact that she always put her work before him to an ununderstandable degree. 

"And you fought these guards with her?" She raised a brow as she waited for him to undress. 

"I told her to go on ahead."

"And she listened to you?!" (Y/n) burst out, shocked.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Because you were dangerously outnumbered! I wouldn't have left you like that, even if you told me to." She grumbled out as she sat down beside him now that his torso was bare.

"What? And risked dying?" He quizzed before hissing as the cloth was pressed to his skin to mop up the blood and clean the wound. 

"Absolutely." She spoke with absolutely no hesitation and Arno glanced to her eyes. They were watery but not enough to blur her vision. He had often complimented her on her eyes, never having seen emotions burn so bright without facial expressions needed. He knew that she couldn't help but cry when she was angry, she'd often told him this and he had occasionally seen it. She was a very cool-headed person but also very emotional. She only ever got angry over this she cared too much about, she never got angry over things that she couldn't care enough about. 

He watched as she carefully stitched over his wound, resting his arm on her knees which she had propped up onto the bed so that he didn't have to hold his injured arm int he air while she patched him up.  
"I miss you, you know?" She spoke up after a while of silence, "I miss spending our afternoons talking about books and history over coffee. I miss our evening walks and our morning games of tag to warm ourselves up for whatever mission we need to be sent on. I don't see you enough and it's making me sad." Her voice was soft, contemplating, she finished off the stitches, "Come and visit me sometime, won't you?" Her (e/c) eyes glanced up to him. 

"I'll try." He offered her a sad smile before redressing himself. 

"Please do." She spoke up as he buttoned up his waistcoat, "Or I'll do it for you." There was a tone in his voice that conveyed how sincere her emotions were about missing him. 

♡♡♡

She didn't intend on waiting another week for Arno to discuss the matter with Élise. She planned on visiting the Templar herself at the café, therefore, she had written to her requesting the meeting over coffee. 

(Y/n) had been the first to arrive at the café, not the one owned by Arno though, this was one in one of the northern districts of Paris. She had ordered herself a latte and sat by the window, watching people pass by on the street and the roaming members of the national guard. 

"(Y/n)," Élise spoke up as she sat down at the table.

"Élise, it's nice to see you again. Though, I truly wish it were under better circumstances." She paused for a moment before cutting straight to the point, "Why have you told Arno that he can't see me anymore? I'm his friend and I have been for a while now." The red-haired Templar paused for a moment which was interrupted by a waiter scurrying over to take her order of an espresso. 

"Is it really so difficult to understand after the way I last saw you two?" She sighed, glancing out the window and shifting in her seat. 

"I understand that you might be worried but that's never happened before. I was laid across the end of the bed to avoid something like that so I don't know what happened." She took a sip from her coffee in order to buy herself time to think over what she would say next. "I care about Arno a lot, as a friend. I don't have many friends in Paris nor family, they're all back home. I want you to know that all I want for him is to be happy. I could never ruin the happiness he gets from your relationship, I could never put the guilt of unfaithfulness on him either. Quite frankly, such a thing goes against my morals too." She paused again while Élise thanked the waiter for her coffee. "He's lost so many people, why would I take you from his life too?"

"Because you're lonely like you just said." The Templar replied in a flat tone, unconvinced by (Y/n)'s sincerity.

"I don't want Arno that way. All I want is to see him happy and he's not happy with this rule of not being allowed to see me." She was growing impatient now, wanting Élise to finally see that she wouldn't dare hurt Arno by tempting him to be unfaithful. 

"Why do you care so much if he's happy?" She raised a brow, "You're just friends, after all." (Y/n) had to admit that the reminder stung a little and perhaps it showed because Élise's face hardened.   
"Because he needs someone to be there for him when he falls. I may not have known him for as long as you have but I know him well enough to recognise that he's still changing. He's not used to falling with no one to pick him up and fix his mistakes for him. He needs a guide, someone to pull him away from drinking and fighting because he doesn't know what else to do when he hits rock bottom."

"And why should that guide be you? I'm his sweetheart, aren't I?"

"But you're never there for him!" She burst out frustratedly, forgetting how fragile the situation was, "Time after time, you've put your duties as a Templar over him breaking down. Why was he in prison for so long?" Her (e/c) eyes became storms, the type that tossed ships onto rocks and shattered them to splinters. 

"I was there the day he broke out! I was there when it was stormed so don't you speak of that to me!" She growled out through gritted teeth.   
"But where had you been?" 

"Mourning my father!" She snapped back. 

"What about the past few weeks? Were you mourning then too or were you simply too busy with your affairs to help him while he was in Versailles? If you're not going to let him have friends, the least you could do is care for him!" She was doing her best to keep her voice level and at a normal volume. 

"My father was assassinated by his own men! My rank, my birthright, has been stripped form me!" The Frenchwoman snapped back. 

"And that's more important to you than Arno?" She spoke in disbelief. 

"As an Assassin, it may come as a shock to you that my answer is yes. Yes, it is more important than a life of romance." She shook her head as she downed the rest of her drink. 

"Then let him go." (Y/n) breathed out, "Why are you hurting him when you won't give him so much as your time?" 

"Would you put him over your work in my position?" She replied. 

"Without hesitation." Was her sharp answer, "I'd put him over everything, my own life included. Have you seen him, Élise? Seen him at his worst?" 

"Of course I h-"

"No, have you? Were you the one who helped him when he was so confused about finding out who he was in this war? Were you the one to watch him blossom in training? Did you stick around after he had to kill Pierre? Did you hold him while he cried because he'd lost someone else? Were you the one he held onto and begged to stay? Were you the one who stuck around for weeks to ease him out of drinking? Did you stay awake for countless nights just to make sure he wasn't troubled by nightmares? Have you ever promised to be a constant in his life like I have? Or do you keep on leaving whenever work calls?" She pulled up her hood when she felt the tears prickling her eyes and she took another long sip of her coffee to cover her wavering voice. 

Élise finished off her drink during the silence that followed. 

"I came here to compromise and now I'm making sure he never sees you again." She tried to meet her eyes from under the shadow of the hood which masked (Y/n)'s face. But it didn't hide the way her lips parted in shock. 

"I beg your pardon?" Her brows furrowed. 

"I'm not letting a woman, who's so clearly in love with him, spend so much time around him while I'm gone." She stood up and took a few steps towards the door.  
"Love? I'm not in-"

"Listen to yourself, (Y/n)." She turned around and paused as she was leaving, "Yes, you are." And with that, the Templar left. (Y/n) glanced down at her half-finished latte.   
"Well, that could've gone better." She let her forehead fall to the table.

♡♡♡

Two days had passed and all (Y/n) could think about was what Élise had said. Was it really that obvious when she put it into words? She couldn't help but cringe whenever Élise's voice rung in her ears saying those words. Had she told Arno? What if he wanted nothing to do with her now?

So now she was sitting in the library with Axeman again, spilling all of these worries to him. 

"It's not fair." She sniffled as she dashed the tears from her cheeks, "I want to give him everything but he's so set on Élise. I don't even know what I was thinking, they've known each other since childhood. What do I have on her?"

"Hey!" He interjected, catching her attention, "Don't you dare compare yourself to her."

"Why not?"

"Well, she's a Templar for start; you've done so much for him; you were the one helping him while she was away; you're the one who's gone to all these lengths to try and see him again; you spend your bonuses on him; you two seem so happy when you're together, and you make a brilliant team on missions." He listed. 

"But he doesn't love me back after all that." She shrugged, wiping at her tears again, "God, I sound so fucking childish." 

"I wasn't finished: you're so kind, sweet, smart, considerate, selfless, hardworking, gifted." 

"But it's clearly not enough, is it? I'm not enough for him, some part of me makes me lesser than Élise." The man's jaw tightened at seeing her degrade herself because of this situation. 

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

"Absolutely not!" She exclaimed, "Are you mad?" 

"Do you want this to change or not?" He sighed, fed up of this game which was clearly breaking the woman's heart. 

"But I don't want to upset him. If he could be happier with me then he would have left her by now. He's. . . He's not mine to love." She licked the tears from her lips as she looked down at her lap, "And I don't want to be loved unless it's by him." 

"There are so many men out there who would treat your heart with care, that wouldn't break it like he is doing." The male assassin explained to her. 

"Like who?" She scoffed. 

"Like me!" It came out with his frustration, "Why do you think I'm always telling you that you can talk to me when you're upset? Why do you think I'm so protective over you on team missions?" He paused, "And this is hurting me too, seeing you be played around like this." 

"I. . . I didn't know. . . I'm sorry but I-" 

"Don't finish." He held up his hand to stop her, "I know that you love him which is why I haven't told you. I want to see you happy and right now you're not." He shook his head, "Why are you doing this to yourself? Give me a chance and I'll show you that it's not worth it." He reached for her hand and she gave it a soft squeeze before pulling her hand back. 

"I'm sorry but I can't." She could see the pain in his eyes but he nodded his head and looked down at his feet.

"And that's alright." He looked up at her and flashed a sad smile to let her know that he respected her feelings, "But I'm going to talk to Arno about this, you deserve so much better." 

"Can I change your mind about that?" She asked, already knowing the answer. 

"I'm afraid not. . ." He shook his head and stood up to leave but she reached out for his hand, causing him to pause.

"Thank you and I'm sorry." She slowly stood up. 

"Don't apologise." His thumb ran over the back of her palm and she threw herself into his arms, feeling him gently hold her back. 

"I've really got myself stuck now, haven't I?" He laughed at herself to cover the small sob that escaped her lips. He pulled back and gently brushed her tears away, feeling her lean into his hands as she closed her eyes. The sensible part of him knew that her mind was on someone else as she felt the warmth of his hands cupping her face. With great hesitation, he took them away and left. (Y/n) sat on the floor and waited for her puffy eyes to cool down.


	3. Tunnels and Tears

Three weeks had passed and (Y/n) had been avoiding both Axeman and Arno like a plague. Not only did she only report her missions as completed during the earliest hours of the morning when no one was about, but she also took the tunnels to get to the hideout to avoid passing the Café-Théâtre. 

She was overworking herself too which didn't help her situation on the slightest. All she did was work; mission after mission, extremist after extremist would fall to her blade. There was not a Jacobin stronghold in Paris that she hadn't infiltrated at this point. She hardly left herself time to eat, all hobbies were forgotten and the few free hours she had remaining were spent on what little sleep she could get. Sleep was difficult when all she could do was scorn herself to be so stupid for letting herself get so attached to another woman's man. 

It was difficult to accept but she began to see sense in all the doubts which plagued her mind and kept her up at night: Arno wouldn’t like her back and she had to accept that. He never showed her any verbal confirmation that he liked her too. She had misinterpreted all the times he'd held her close, kissed her forehead and held her hand. 

She often thought back to when he'd put his arm around her shoulders on their way back from a mission or the times he'd bought her her favourite flowers when he noticed she was feeling down. Some childish part of her had hoped that this was him seeking her affection but now she was sure that she had been wrong all along. 

She had never helped him to receive affection from him (some part of her little imagination land pictured it at times but she would never pressure him like that). In all honesty, she only ever wanted to see him happy and never confessed her feelings to spare him the confusion and guilt. But now he knew and she didn’t know if she could face him anymore. (Y/n) knew that Élise made him happy and she refused to ever stand between his joy. She wanted to see him happy, even if it was with someone else. 

But what if he thought she only ever helped him to try and gain something? She didn’t want him getting the wrong idea about the type of person she was - she wasn't manipulative and would never want to force him into thinking he owed her anything. 

A large part of (Y/n) hated Élise and that sat uncomfortably with her. Jealousy wasn't in her nature and she knew that the redhead made Arno happy. She suspected that she simply didn't like the fact that Élise stayed when he was good and left when he needed her the most, leaving him to turn to (Y/n) for support. 

She’d seen Arno broken so many times and it shattered her heart to utter pieces. She knew that if the Templar continued down this path, she would wind up dead and Arno would have no one left seeing as she could no longer bring herself to face him. 

Currently, (Y/n) stumbled into the hideout, head spinning with exhaustion. Her boots shuffled across the patterned floor and dragged up the curved staircase, gripping onto the bannister to support her weight. 

She headed over to where she could document her mission and fell into the chair, it's old wood creaking in protest when she collapsed onto the velvet cushion which pillowed the hardwood. Her dainty fingers took up the white quill that had been resting in the inkpot. Her hand shook for whatever reason (she opted to ignore it, wanting to get the day finished with so that she could return home) and she prepared to write down her success in burning the Jacobin heist plans but the black ink pooled on the page, seeping a few layers under in a shimmering dark pool. 

In her tired state, she had forgotten to properly prepare the quill which had resulted in her staining at least six pages of the record book with the dark ink that taunted her from where it lay. 

The small failure was enough to push her over the edge, shoving the book violently away from her to bring her hands up to her face and cry. Her elbows rested on the table while her hands covered her eyes from anyone who may wander into the same room. 

She was back to having no one again, having pushed everyone anyway when she needed them the most. She was tired, famished, dehydrated and lonely. 

She sat and wondered if she’d ever sort things out with her friends, if she could ever feel as though she was enough for anyone after comparing herself to Élise over and over, cursing herself for loving a man who wasn’t hers. It was two in the morning so the halls were empty and her sobs rang down them eerily like a ghost who needed someone to know the pain of their life before they left. 

The stillness was other-worldly. She’d become nocturnal and detached herself from the world around her. But the silence was unnerving her. It felt as though she had stepped into another universe, one where only she existed and there was no way to escape how isolated she felt. The highlighted loneliness only made her cry harder, hands balling up into fists while her head hung low.

“Madame, are you alright?” A feminine voice spoke up from the bookshelves around the corner, having heard the crying. She was an initiate, judging by the white uniform. To be in the library so late, she must have been going the extra mile for her research on the Brotherhood’s history and philosophy in order to be initiated into the Parisian Brotherhood of Assassins. (Y/n) hastily smeared her tears from her cheeks before bolting up and making her way towards the exit, not caring that the chair had fallen to the ground behind her as he feet carried her out across the red carpet to the tunnels, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. 

“I’m fine.” Was all she said before making her way through the heavy door, not realising that she was already out of earshot and her voice had come out a whisper. She was more so trying to convince herself than the initiate assassin. The tears spilt silently down her (s/t) cheeks as she took a turn to where she knew she could take a moment to let it out before making the long underground journey home. After that, she could finally sleep. 

She lifted the rusted bolt of the gate open when she reached it, putting it back in place after so that she could take a moment. She sat down on the tunnel's staircase where the grime stopped once it was high enough and brought her knees up to her chest, sniffling and taking shaky breaths to try and compose herself, only to sob harder. 

She lost all track of time but was caught off guard when the tunnel filled with candlelight. The door at the top of the staircase had been opened. Almost leaping out of her skin, she threw herself down the stairs and pulled her hood down over her face. Her hands pushed at the latch on the gate to the tunnels, trying in vain to shift the lock which she had forgotten could be incredibly stubborn. Jiggling it only served to shift it upwards a few millimetres but it was too late because a hand had fallen on her shoulder. 

“(Y/n)?” She outwardly cringed at the voice of the last person she wanted to see her this way, “What’re you doing here?” 

“Nothing. Just taking a break.” She replied, continuing the slowly jiggle the latch to unlock. 

“Were you crying?” He pressed, hand resting firmly on her shoulder. 

“No, I wasn’t. I’m fine.” Realising how unconvincing she sounded while her vision of the lock blurred with tears, she tried again. “I’m fine.” But this only served to become yet another failure as her voice broke and she gave up on coaxing the stubborn lock to rest her forehead against the gate and cry, her frame shaking with sobs which she desperately tried to hold back. 

She heard a soft sigh before he turned her around and pulled her into his arms. She held him tightly as she buried her face in his chest. 

“I’m sorry, I’m trying so hard to let go but I don’t know how.” She cried as he swayed her in his hold and hushed her gently. 

“Come on, let’s go upstairs.” He led her up the stairs until they were sitting in his room by the fire like they had done so many times before. 

She could feel the headache beginning to split her skull and the dull ache at the back of her throat from the swallowed sobs. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m so tired.” She whispered as he let her lean her head showing his chest, sitting between his legs with both of hers over his right thigh. She knew that she shouldn't be sat with him like that, knew that she shouldn't be revelling in whatever contact he wished to offer but she couldn't help herself. When it came to him, her will to distance herself was weak. “I’ve taken on all your missions because it’s more convenient for the council and I don’t want them to have a worse opinion of you for when you try to get back into the brotherhood. It’s too much and I don’t have time anymore. And I’ve been reporting all my missions late to avoid Jean.” 

“(Y/n). I had so many missions lined up before I was exiled.” He spoke with concern, looking down at her only to watch her hide her face. “Why are you avoiding Jean?” 

“Because I know what it’s like to watch the one you love pursue someone else. It breaks your heart and you have to put it back together so that it can be broken again.” 

“(Y/n). . . Is this about me and Élise? Because Jean spoke to me and I—“ she moved out of his hold to put some distance between the two of them, no matter how much she wanted his contact, it was now confirmed to her that Jean had spoken to him and Arno did know how she felt. They fell silent until he spoke up. “So it’s true?” 

“I didn’t mean for. . . I’d never. . .” She began, not knowing whether to apologise, explain or stay silent.

“(Y/n), why are you here?” He asked. 

“I didn’t mean to run into you. I just needed somewhere to sit for a few minutes because there was someone in the hideout.” 

“Are you sure? Because Élise told me about your meeting at the café. (Y/n), you knew you liked me. What were you trying to do?” 

“I wasn’t trying anything!” She protested, “I just. . . I just wanted. . .”

“Me?” He raised a brow. 

“Yes. No, no not like that.” She watched as his eyes showed her all the doubts behind them. “Arno, I never tried to steal you away. I cared— I care about you, a lot. All I’ve ever wanted is to see you happy. I couldn’t ruin your relationship with Élise by telling you how I felt.” 

“So because you couldn’t get anything out of me, you just hoped that I’d notice your feelings and give in?” She had feared that he would think she’d only helped him to gain something from it and now it was painfully true. 

“No, never! I—“ She stuttered to think. “You weren’t— aren’t mine to love. But I can’t help the way I feel so I thought that if I could love you from a distance, it would be fine but. . . But it wasn’t fine. I wanted more but I didn’t want to be selfish—“

“But you were.” Her watery eyes snapped up, “When both Élise and I told you to stay away, you wouldn’t listen. (Y/n), you were such a dear friend to me but Élise is more and I have to put that over you, I’m sorry.” 

She forgot how to be: how to move, breathe, react. She was sure every her heart stopped for a moment as his words froze her. Her bottom lip trembled as she searched for the words to say. 

"I was a good friend?" She highlighted, putting an emphasis on how he had used the past tense. 

"I can't have y. . . I don't want you around anymore, I'm sorry."

She didn’t want to be there anymore. She didn’t want to be in his home, in Paris altogether. Standing up on trembling legs, her head spun with fatigue as she made her way to the door. She paused in the frame, wrapping her arms around her sides in search of any form of comfort. 

“She doesn’t care as much as you think she does. You may put her over me but she’ll put revenge over you. She’ll leave you behind, break your heart and then you’ll see how much it fucking hurts.” Her last two words came out as sobs as she left. She knew she shouldn't be mad at him but she couldn't help it. 

Arno was sat there thinking over her words as he heard her footsteps hammer down the stairs, running. He had many expectations for how she would react when he finally got the chance to have this conversation with her. That was one of the worse ones. 

He felt awful for not feeling bad about it. He and Élise had been talking frequently about her since Axeman had told Arno of (Y/n)’s feelings for him. That’s when she had confessed about the café meeting and had told him that (Y/n)’s only intentions with him were to get in his head and steal him away, that the Englishwoman didn’t like her because she was a Templar. She even went as far as to suggest that the council had put her up to it to sever Arno’s ties with the Templars entirely — it had been the terms of the proposed re-initiation after all. 

It had hurt him to finally give in to believing that she had only ever helped him out of her want to gain his affection. But, given so many factors in the situation, it wasn't difficult for Élise to put the doubt in his mind. The Templar had told (Y/n) that she would make sure he never saw her again. 

And she had meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe and social distance everyone <3 don't forget to follow me on tumblr where i post reader x AC character ships, headcanons, fanfics and more -Kia C.


	4. Reencounters and Rain

Years had passed since then and (Y/n) had left the country, making the tough decision to go back to England. There was nothing there for her other than work and people who had betrayed her in the past but it was better than heartbreak.

England was infested with Templars, the Brotherhood weakened fatally, so there was always something to be done. There were many Americans there too now, having fled the colonies when the land was liberated from the crown. Not all of them had supported the revolution — some hoarded the benefits of the British rule.

She had aged slightly now, her hair had been cut shorter at the front to frame her face, her hands were roughened from life as an assassin and she’d learned a great many things: of history, of languages, of skills, of weapons, of people, of politics, of the ones who came before.

But she had never learned how to move on.

She’d buried her letters from Arno in a sealed box — she didn’t have the heart to burn them but couldn’t bear to look upon them again. They were secure in the ground below the tunnel which led to the Parisian brotherhood hideout.

No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t find eyes for anyone else and she had tried, oh she had tried many a time, but any touch that wasn’t his simply didn’t feel right.

She had had to find joy in new things: the arts simply reminded her of Arno too much. She studied history and botany instead, leaving poetry and artists behind her.

She never planned on setting foot in France again, it was a country of heartbreak to her. But now she wasn’t exactly faced with a choice.

“I did all I could there! The British brotherhood is weak! My work is better placed here!” She protested, facing the council.

“The Parisian brotherhood is facing threats once more: Templars seeking pieces of Eden, rebellions still being stirred, even after Robespierre’s death. You worked well under the creed there and we have already arranged with the French council to send you back to Paris.” They watched her look down at the floor, scrunching her eyes shut. But she refused to abandon the creed that she served.

“When does the ship leave for Calais?” She sighed, knowing that they had presented this as a choice even though it had already been arranged.

“Three days from now. You’ll be travelling with George and Albert.”

“Understood.” And she bowed before leaving. Her face pulled down in a bitter frown as she walked to her room to pack her things. George was a dear friend of hers but Albert was unbearable. He was invasive and insensitive and, quite frankly, she hated his very presence; something about it just weighed down one's spirits and made kept them on edge.

(Y/n) made a start on packing all her clothes and weapons, stashing a few books for leisure in her bag along with her wash-bag and her makeup. She added a small box of stationary and her journal too before deeming her small apartment empty. She had left most of her belongings back in France, anyway, when she fled in such a hurry to leave everything behind.

Many of the Assassins in this branch of the brotherhood lived in the same neighbourhood, keeping them close and making it easier to train. She did this too, dedicating her life to her work as an assassin once she had left France.

It was early evening by that time so (Y/n) knew they would begin their journey in the morning. She sat down at her desk for a few moments, glancing out the window to the golden sunlight, before getting up to visit her neighbour on the floor below her attic apartment.

(Y/n) stood outside the door and knocked her fist against the wood, waiting for an answer and hoping that Catherine was in.

“One moment!” She heard a call from inside before the door swung open as there stood her blonde friend.

“I’m leaving.” (Y/n) offered a sad smile.

“Oh. . .” Catherine seemed rather taken by surprise, “Where to?” And she invited (Y/n) inside with a sweep of her arm. The (h/c)-haired assassin followed inside.

“They’re sending me to France for—“ and her eyes landed on a man who was just pulling his robes and boots on. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you want me to come back later?” She offered awkwardly.

“No, no, I’m just leaving.” He waved his hand in dismissal before placing it gently on Catherine’s waist and planting a soft kiss on her lips. He left moments after. The blonde woman looked up to see (Y/n)’s look of sadness and borderline jealousy.

“You’ll find love, (Y/n),” she cooed, “as soon as you learn to move on from him. . .” She shot her friend a sympathetic look, knowing the story behind why many of the male brothers often called her prude or impossible.

“I don’t think I ever will, Cathy.” She whispered as she took a seat. “And just while we’re on the subject. . . What will I find when I get back? W-what if I was wrong and Élise is still alive? What if she and Arno are married? Have children, even? What if he hates me still?” She took a shuddering breath, “I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

“Oh, (Y/n).” Catherine frowned as she watched her friend’s (e/c) eyes glass over with tears, crouching down by her side to meet her gaze, “Don’t imagine the worst. Perhaps you were right, or perhaps he’s not in France at all; perhaps you may meet; no one knows.” She paused for a moment, “I understand that you can’t love another but you need to see what this has done to you.” She watched as her friend wiped the tears from her face.

“Can we change the subject now, please? I don’t like talking about him, Cathy.” And she shook her head to clear her mind of those thoughts.

“Of course.” She smiled patiently, “What’s Paris like anyway? Surely there’s more to it than him.” She waved her hand at mentioning him, dismissing him as a subject.

“It was a mess, last I was there: the reign of terror, riots, people killing each other for food, Jacobins and the National Guard fighting one another in the streets. But. . . There were artists everywhere, musicians, tailors, theatres. It truly is the heart of the fine arts. The architecture is beautiful and the brotherhood is strong there.” She explained.

“See? There are good things to look forward to when you get back.” Catherine offered a smile.

“I’ll be travelling with George and Albert.” She answered Catherine shot her a look of sympathy.

“That long journey with him?” She chuckled, “I pity you.”

“As do I.” (Y/n) replied with a playful roll of her eyes, “Though, I plan on abandoning him as soon as we arrive in Paris — he’s always teased me for saying French is important, now he can suffer the consequences of never learning it.”

“As you should, your role isn’t to mother him.” Cathy agreed, “When are you leaving, anyway?”

“Tomorrow morning. We want to get down to Dover by Friday.” She replied.

“So soon?” Catherine frowned, shifting to sit cross-legged on the floor. (Y/n) nodded her head in confirmation

“You should get an early night then.” (Y/n)’s blonde friend suggested, making her nod her head and stand to leave.

“I’ll miss you.” She offered a thin smile before slipping out of the door. Usually, Catherine would have embraced a departing friend, but she knew that (Y/n) didn’t like being touched.

Three days had passed and (Y/n) was half tempted to jump off the boat and swim to Calais which was taking up the horizon now. Albert was intolerable.

“Come, all these days and you still haven’t shared anything about yourself?” He rolled his eyes as he leaned on the rail of the ship, sails stretched full of wind above them.

“Why are you so obsessed with my sex life, Albert?” She turned to face him, finally irritated enough to blatantly confront him about it.

“Because from what I’ve heard, you don’t have one.” He replied.

“If you’re looking for a blushing virgin bride, I’m not interested or a nun.” She replied with a venomous bitterness. “And quite frankly, I’m sick and tired of you being such a creep.”

“Albert!” George called from the other side of the ship, seeing that (Y/n) was clearly angry with him despite not being able to hear their conversation from where he stood, “Leave her be.”

“ _Bonne chance, Albert, tu ne peux pas parler français et je ne t’aiderai pas._ ” She growled as she turned away from him while he made his way over to George who would politely lecture him on how he needed to stop.

For the fifth time on this journey.

As (Y/n) watched Calais grow closer and closer, she couldn’t help but feel more anxious. She didn’t know if she wanted to see Arno again or not. She had no idea how he had changed over these last few years. She leaned against the rail and clasped her hands. What if he and Élise had a family? What if he still hated her? What if Élise was dead and he blamed her for knowing it would happen and not helping? What if— her thoughts were interrupted when George came up beside her.

“I can see why you hate him.” He laughed lightly, watching as (Y/n) merely nodded her head, eyes glued worriedly to the approaching mass of land that was the northern coast of France, England’s white cliffs far behind them now. “Is something wrong?” She let out a sigh, putting her hand on the back of her neck under the hood of her beige coat.

“I. . . There’s something in Paris that I left behind. I’m just hoping that it doesn’t come back up or it hasn’t got worse.” She spoke as she looked down to the waves lapping against the hull of the ship.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her ally prompted. She shook her head, a few (h/c) strands falling loose from her beaked hood. “That’s ok. If you need anything once we get there, just let me know and I’ll do my best to help you out, alright?” (Y/n) nodded her head in understanding before she took a deep breath as she walked away.

Why did all this hurt so much?

♡♡♡

Albert had made the coach trip so unbearable to the point that (Y/n) had asked the driver to stop in order to sit up front with him, leaving the men inside the carriage. (Y/n) had stayed in the pub of the inn until the late hours once he was asleep to avoid him before going to their shared room in order to rest herself.

As soon as they arrived in Paris, she was quick to introduce her team to the network of tunnels under the city. Though, it was really so that she could avoid the café. Part of her longed to walk through the familiar streets, to see what had changed and what hadn't but she didn't know what she'd do if she saw Arno's home.

When they entered the hideout, she began to lead the way to the council’s chamber when a familiar face caught her eye and he froze as well upon seeing her for the first time in so long.

“(Y/n)?” His voice seemed to echo in the quiet room, silent save for the sound of a sword being sharpened and papers being shuffled.

“It’s been a while.” She smiled softly before nodding her head in greeting: Axeman.

“It’s been too long.” He stepped closer to glance over her face, her new hairstyle and how her manner of dress had changed a little. He reached forwards in order to embrace her but she held her hands out to show she didn't wish to be touched, watching him frown sadly at this. “You left without a word.”

“I. . .” She closed her eyes for a few moments before meeting his gaze again, “I’m sorry, it all became too much and I. . . I didn’t know how else to handle it so I ran.” He could see the thick guilt in her eyes, "I should have said goodbye to you, you didn't deserve me vanishing like that. I just have to take these two to the council to have some initiates get them settled in and I'll get straight to signing up for contracts." She paused for a moment, "That is. . . unless you want to catch up first?" It was a question, a hopeful raise in the tone of her voice and his features softened.

"Of course I do. You've missed a lot." He smiled, "Why don't you come by mine later? I'm just down the road from where I used to live - at number six now." He smiled.

"Out of that loft at last!" She laughed before her face crumpled a little and she bit her bottom lip. She missed her home in Paris: missed the bed in the corner, the warmth of that specific fireplace, the way the light filtered inside, her houseplants and her cluttered desk.

"Stop by once you're ready." He put a hand on her shoulder and she quickly pushed it off, realising how rude she may have just seemed.

"Of course. . . and, uh. . . I don't like to be touched at all so please. . . ?" She spoke as politely as she could and saw the sorry in his face as he recalled how much of a physically affectionate person she had been: open to being the shoulder to be cried on or to cry on one, keen on running her fingers through hair to comfort her friends and lingering on embraces.

"Sure, I won't do it again." He replied kindly, wanting to respect her need for space despite it being new to him. Jean left her be and she turned back to her English allies.

"Come on, let's get you introduced and then I'll leave you with some people to settle you in." She sighed as she led them through the hall, watching George take in the tall ceilings and intricate decor while Albert eyed up the weapon station where a tall woman with her cowl low over her head was sharpening her dagger.

♡♡♡

It was raining lightly by the time (Y/n) arrived at Jean's new home, glancing inside the window just to be sure that it did belong to him. Upon seeing him drying up plates in the sink, she walked over to the front door and knocked. Her coat was splattered with raindrops, the fabric of the hood, shoulders, arms and back now a light brown instead of beige. The door squeaked as it opened and she was greeted with a smile. She reached back to pull her hood down as she stepped inside, her friend closing the door behind her as she made her way inside. They both sat down opposite each other at the dining table.

"So, you did go back to England?" He raised a brow and she leaned forward a little, crossing her legs.

"Yeah, I didn't know what else to do, I didn't want to go back there originally but once I was there, I was surrounded by new people and a strengthened brotherhood. It's still nowhere near as strong as it needs to be but I have faith in my brothers and sisters back there. Money's short so we're scraping by for supplies. Perhaps they needed to send some people to Paris for aid _and_ financial reasons." She shrugged.

"Has anything interesting happened over the-"

"Night Papa!" A young voice called out as a girl, no much older than five, bounded into the room and pounced on his lap, causing him to let out a groan before wrapping his arms around her. She had fair blonde hair and the rounded cheeks of a young child with a healthy rosy glow to her skin. (Y/n)'s eyes almost burst out of her head. Surely this was not his child? Had she truly been gone for so long? The girl turned to look at (Y/n) and she caught a glance at her light brown eyes, "Papa, who's this?"

"Emilie, this is an old friend of mine, (Y/n)."

" _'Old friend'?_ I haven't been that long, surely." She giggled before looking down at the child and waving softly, "Hi, it's nice to meet you." She beamed a smile at the little girl in her nightdress.

"Where have you been?" She inquired in her high voice.

"Never you mind, chérie, it's time for you to go to sleep. Maybe you can talk to (Y/n) another time, hmm?" The female assassin grinned amusedly as she watched the child pout before Jean kissed her cheek and sent her off to bed with a pat on the back, hearing her little footsteps thunder up the stairs.

"Is she yours?" (Y/n) asked in disbelief.

"No, but I like to feel as though she is. My wife-"

"Wife?!" (Y/n) exclaimed, "I have missed a lot!" Jean let out a hearty laugh.

" _Oui_ , Isabelle." He smiled and she could see the love in his eyes when he mentioned her name, "She was working in the brothel when I met her. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't some obsessed client, we actually met each other at a market, someone stole her purse and I got it back for her. She already had Emilie by then, she was two. But she insisted she repay me and I refused, treating her to a coffee instead. I'm not ashamed of who she was when I met her at all. A prostitute or not, I fell in love with her and I still am, albeit she's a housewife now."

"Is she here?" (Y/n) queried.

"She is." A woman's voice spoke up, rounding the wall by the stairs and making her way behind Jean, wrapping her arms around him and turning his head to catch his lips in a soft but lingering kiss. (Y/n) glanced away until they stopped. Emilie was a spitting image of her mother.

"It's nice to meet you. I was Jean's close friend through work before I moved a few years ago, I only just arrived back in Paris today." The woman seemed convinced that this ' _friend_ ' her daughter had just informed her of was just that and she smiled in return.

"Well then, welcome back. I hope you settle in again fast enough." And she gave Jean a kiss to the temple before making her way back upstairs to continue putting her daughter to bed.

"How's everyone else from the team doing? Victor, Hugo. . . Arno?"

"Arno's only just been reinitiated." He replied, "He was a ruin after Élise's death."

"How did she die?" (Y/n) murmured, already having a fair idea of the answer.

"Germain killed her. Arno blamed himself for not getting to her in time."

"How long ago was this?" She asked.

"1794." Was his reply. (Y/n) slowly licked her lips, feeling her bottled up emotions threaten her cool facade.

"H-how is he now?" She glanced up from the table to meet his eyes and his face deadpanned when he saw the look behind them.

"(Y/n), you're not still-"

"I can't let go of him." She pressed the back of her palm to her mouth, feeling the tears. Arno wasn't a subject she often spoke about but he was one that constantly haunted her, "I can't stand being touched by anyone that isn't him, casually, platonically or romantically, I just can't let go of him." The first tear rolled down her cheek and she took in a deep breath, holding it, trying to keep it all in. She bit down on her bottom lip like a vice, sucking one of her cheeks in.

"He's not in Paris at the moment. He's in Franciade at the moment, some lead from a contact, he said." Axeman spoke, careful where he treaded, not wanting to set her off on a quest to track him down, fearing that it would be no good for her. He was the reason she fled once and he could just as easily be the reason for her fleeing again. She let out a shuddering breath, hand covering her eyes and she shrunk into herself.

"Does he still hate me?" He watched her body jolt with a silent sob that she did her best to keep in.

"(Y/n). . ." He got up to embrace her, only to recall her wish to not be touched, opting to crouch beside her and lay a hand on the table instead.

"The last time I spoke to him, he thought that I'd been doing everything to try and pressure him into returning my feelings. I never wanted to hurt him, I never did it for that. I just thought I could love him from a distance if I couldn't be his lover and I was wrong, I was so, so wrong and it went terribly and-" A sob escaped her lips, "-and I hate that that's how he remembers me: manipulative, selfish. I've bottled this up for so long and it's all coming out now, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm here to talk, to help you get over him." He spoke softly and (Y/n) smudged the tears away from her cheeks.

"But I don't want to get over him, I want to love him and be loved in return." She scoffed, "God, I sound like a child throwing a tantrum, don't I?"

"I don't know, Emilie's usually screaming when she throws tantrums so at least you're quieter." He joked, causing her to laugh a little, sniffling after as she dried her eyes.

"I need to go after him, Jean." She whispered, afraid of her wavering voice.

"(Y/n), no. I shouldn't have told you-"

"If I can't get what I want then maybe I can get some closure." She replied and he sighed, standing up to lean against the table.

"I know you. I know that you don't want closure at all because that means him still not returning your feelings."

"All I can do is try then, right?" And she stood up, allowing him to lead her back to the front door, opening it to see that the rain was much heavier and hearing the rolls of thunder, the streets bare of people.

"You really still love him after all these years?" He raised a brow, knowing she fully intended on chasing him down right away and she wouldn't let the weather stop her.

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone leaving kudos and comments, it really helps to motivate me to write more often. Be sure to check out my Tumblr where I also post headcanons, ships, oneshots and other series that aren't here on AO3. <3  
> Translations:  
> Bonne chance, Albert, tu ne peux pas parler français et je ne t’aiderai pas. - Good luck, Albert, you can't speak French and I won't help you.   
> Oui - yes


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